Forgotten Fragrance

www.escapepublishing.com.au

Only one woman can confirm his innocence, and release him from the torments of his past.

Determined to throw off the shackles of her convict past, Charlotte Oliver accepts her employer's marriage proposal, even though she does not love him, and together they board a refitted whaling schooner bound for Sydney to begin their new life.

But life has a way of disrupting plans, and during the voyage the Zephyrus undergoes a mutiny. Captain Christian Charity loses his ship, but he also risks losing so much more. Charlotte has in her possession a tiny blue bottle and an Angel coin. On their own, they mean nothing more than a keepsake, but to Christian, they could mean everything – a past remade and a future with love.

Téa Cooper is an Australian author of historical and contemporary romance. In a past life she was a teacher, a journalist and a farmer. These days she haunts museums and indulges her passion for storytelling.

As always my thanks to my fabulous critique partner Eva Scott and her Grammar Guru for their support and encouragement, and of course to Kate Cuthbert, the Escape team and every one of the Escape Artists.

I would also like to acknowledge the assistance of Gillian Simpson of the Australian National Maritime Museum, Carol Edwards of Eden Whale Museum and the Newcastle Maritime Museum. They put me in touch with a wonderful man, Wayne Patchfield, who knows all about nineteenth-century schooners. Thank you all so much. Making contact with such fascinating people is half the fun of writing historical fiction.

In the immortal words of Rat from
The Wind in the Willows
:

‘There is nothing — absolutely nothing — half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats.'

This story is a ‘thank you' to everyone who has shared their boat, and their time on the water, with me.

About the Author

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

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Salamanca Wharf, Hobart Town, 1844

‘Why such a long face, my dear? This voyage will be nothing like your previous experience, I assure you.'

Charlotte forced a tentative smile to her face and thanked her lucky stars for Marcus Wainwright. Grasping his arm she let him lead her along Hunter Street to the new Salamanca wharf. As always, the truth of his words resonated deeply within her. Simply enjoying the sights and sounds of the bustling harbour was a far cry from the last time she'd boarded a ship. From the first day she met Marcus he'd been kindness itself and accepting his proposal would in some way repay him for taking a chance on her.

‘The Captain has been kind enough to forgo his comfort for the duration of the voyage and will bunk down with the crew. We will have his cabin and the first mate's at our disposal. I'd like you to think of this trip as the beginning of our new life.' He patted her hand, drawing her into the well-ordered security of his world.

As they rounded the corner onto the wharf the wind picked up and buffeted the crowds milling around the wharves and dockside taverns. The entire area rippled with energy, jam-packed with sailors from all over the world — British merchant seamen, American whalemen, Malays, Polynesians — and not a convict ship in sight.

Relinquishing Marcus' arm, Charlotte clung to her skirt and her bonnet as a stiff gust of wind whistled around one of the sandstone warehouses and threatened to blow her into the water.

‘There we are.' Marcus pointed beyond the New Wharf to a small schooner moored offshore, amongst the visiting ships fighting for space with the river barges and all manner of craft. Convinced this was the busiest harbour in the world Charlotte clamped her bonnet firmly on her head and gazed in the direction he indicated.

The two-masted schooner rode the gentle waves of the outer anchorage with unexpected elegance. Its jet black hull and golden stripe accentuated the sleek lines. On the prow the head and torso of a woman with long golden curls arched beneath the long bowsprit and glistened in the sunlight. Every inch of the timber and brass glinted with polished perfection and a flag fluttered atop the massive mainmast, threatening to graze the clouds.

With a relieved sigh Charlotte dropped her shoulders, finally convinced Marcus had spoken the truth.
Zephyrus
appeared nothing like the dreadful aged transport that had floundered its way around the Cape full of misery and sickness, bringing her to Van Diemen's Land. Not only was the
Zephyrus
much, much smaller, she appeared cared for, a treasured possession. Her heart gave a little skip as she scanned the immaculate paintwork and the clean rake of
Zephyrus'
masts.

A large rowboat bobbed against the wharf and the barrow boy unloaded their baggage from the green handcart, ready to pass down to the waiting sailors. Her small carpetbag looked a little sad next to Marcus' assortment of baggage, but considering she'd arrived in Hobart Town with little more than the clothes on her back she couldn't complain.

‘Let them load our trunks and then you go first, my dear. I shall be right behind you.'

The incongruous pair of sailors dressed in patched trousers and not much more manhandled their baggage into the boat, then the taller of the two offered her a calloused hand. She gripped it and stepped down into the well of the boat, pausing for a moment to allow her body to move with the rhythmic rise and fall of the water.

‘Are you all right, my dear?'

‘Yes, I'm perfectly fine. Just getting my balance.'

The younger of the two sailors settled her onto one of the bench seats. He didn't even look old enough to have left his mother's side. She leant back against the shiny timber, studying the
Zephyrus,
revelling in the clutch of excitement in her stomach and the warmth of the sun on her back.

The boat gave a lurch and Marcus landed, almost losing his balance, beside her. He glared, brushed aside her offer of assistance and collapsed onto the seat. Recognising his disgruntled sigh as the prelude to one of his frequent bursts of temper Charlotte smiled, hoping to soothe him. His erratic moods and self-importance were a small price to pay for all he offered her — a new life and a new start. Despite her initial doubts about him, her life could have been so much worse if Marcus hadn't come to her aid when she stepped ashore from the
Atwich
six years ago.

Marcus brushed his hands down his immaculate black frock coat, checked his silver pocket watch and frowned. ‘Will you be able to manage the rope ladder when we get out to the
Zephyrus
?'

‘I'm sure I shall, I had plenty of practise climbing around a ship. I'm certain I haven't forgotten, although it seems like a lifetime ago.'

‘Humph!' Marcus shook his head and glared pointedly at the sailor whose arm muscles bunched as he eased the small boat away from the wharf.

‘I know you'd rather I didn't refer to my past, Marcus. I did time in Newgate and spent four months aboard a prison ship. I can't make it disappear.'

Her history weighed far more heavily on his shoulders than her own. He wanted it forgotten, buried. She'd long ago come to terms with Marcus' sensitivity to the stigma of her convict status. Some of the most prominent citizens of Hobart Town had similar origins proving she shouldn't be ashamed. In another seven months her full sentence would be completed and she'd be a free woman. ‘I don't think there will be much aboard the
Zephyrus
that will surprise me.'

Marcus studied the sailors as they accomplished the pull back to the ship. The glassy water of the harbour rippled and when they entered the shadow cast by the schooner Charlotte pulled her shawl tight. Craning her head back she peered up at the imposing figure standing amidships, arms akimbo, studying their little boat as it bumped alongside the immaculate black hull. A rope snaked down and the young sailor caught it and, as Marcus predicted, a ladder was lowered.

The sailor offered his hand, steadying her while she took a firm grasp on the lower rungs, then averted his eyes as she began her ascent. Before she had time to worry about her modesty a huge pair of roughened hands reached out and reefed her unceremoniously over the rail. She landed on the deck with a thump. Rearranging her skirts she nodded her thanks and moved aside to make way for Marcus.

His head appeared level with the deck rail and they hauled him aboard in a torrent of snorts and grumbles. He smoothed his topcoat, shrugged and eyed the forbidding giant who had watched the entire proceedings with a studied indifference.

‘Captain Charity, I presume.' Marcus offered his hand and with a degree of reluctance the man unfolded his immense hairless forearms, exposed by the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt.

Charlotte bit back the laugh building in her throat. The man looked more like a pirate with his large glittering earring and red neckerchief than the captain of this neat little craft.

‘Nah! Henk, First Mate, Capt'n's gone ashore. Business to conduct.' The corpulent pirate withdrew his hand and wiped it down his stained trousers, then resumed his belligerent stance.

Marcus' Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed his intimidation and pulled his shoulders back. ‘Marcus Wainwright. I've arranged passage to Sydney aboard the
Zephyrus
.'

‘Don't hold with no passengers, meself.
Zephyrus
is a working ship, whaler not a bloody transporter.' The pirate's flat green eyes raked her. ‘And not a bleeding hen frigate.'

A shudder traced her spine and she stepped closer to Marcus.

‘Capt'n didn't say nuffink about women.'

Squirming beneath his unwelcome scrutiny Charlotte dropped her gaze from his face and concentrated on the polished deck.

‘The Captain and I discussed our passage and he's well aware Miss Charlotte is accompanying me. I'm certain he knows full well she is a woman.' With a disparaging glare Marcus defied the pirate.

‘Certainly no doubting that, is there?' His thin lips curled in a sneer and Charlotte pulled her shawl tighter, covering her neckline. The incongruity of his green eyes and the oriental cast of his face, so at odds with his accent, made her skin prickle.

Unable to escape she turned and looked up at the masts as they swayed with the swell, almost piercing the gathering clouds. The sneaking suspicion that some problem would arise to prevent her leaving Van Diemen's Land bubbled to the surface and she fought it down. Marcus carried papers giving her permission to travel to Sydney. She'd been assigned to him since she first set foot in Van Diemen's Land.

‘Are you going to show us to our cabins or are we going to stand up here discussing your captain's arrangements until he returns?' The pirate failed to recognise the tone in Marcus' voice. It spelt trouble.

‘Women aboard ship's bad luck. The crew ain't going to like it.'

Marcus drew himself up, angling his head level with the pirate's shoulder. ‘Take the matter up with your captain. Now man, show us to our quarters.' He waved his hand at their baggage on the deck behind him. ‘Bring our belongings and follow.' He strode off along the deck.

Charlotte's eyes widened and she lifted her skirts and trotted after him. The nauseous sensation in her stomach caused by the rank odour of the pirate's unwashed body and the stench of spirits enveloping him was an unpleasant reminder of her last voyage.